if loves elastic (then were we born to test its reach?)
by DaughterOfPoseidon333
Summary: He'd started calling her Romanoff again. Post AoU Romanogers two shot.
1. Only The Breakable Ones

**So I'm a little late with this post-AoU piece, but I had to collect all my thoughts and feelings about the movie and these two until I could write something coherent.**

 **So, I did enjoy Age of Ultron. There were some really great things, and there were definitely some things that could've been changed. And being complete Romanogers trash, Steve and Natasha's relationship definitely could've been improved. Like we don't even know if they saw each other over that year in between CATWS and AoU. (In this story I'm assuming they didn't).**

 **Anyway! So, this is the first part as well as the "breaking them even more than they already are" part. The next part is the fixing it part. So prepare for angst either way!**

 **Title is taken from _Homesick_ by Sleeping At Last. See end notes for chapter soundtrack.**

 **I don't own Avengers.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-:-**

Steve struck the punching bag again and again, the sand-filled leather trembling under the force. He'd been going at it for a while now, already having broken open another punching bag in his anger. He didn't do this often, but ever since the events of Ultron's brief reign…well, he had a lot of emotions bubbling right under the surface, and they felt like they would rupture any second, opening up the fault lines in his usually carefully controlled shell. Tonight though, had been bad. He had nightmares practically every night, but that night had been the worst in a long time. Ultron's words, Wanda's vision…it all twisted around inside his skull until it was a big knotted mess that he had no hopes of untangling.

So, there he was, at three in the morning in the training center of the new Avengers facility, where he, Natasha, and the others were staying for the time being. It's not like he found a place in Brooklyn to go home to anyway.

Sweat dripped down his face, lined the collar of his t-shirt, the veins in his arms standing out and he swung out at the bag again, his fists connecting with the solid material and his own breathing the only sounds in the gym. _Captain America…pretending like he can live without a war…_ Ultron's harsh metallic words rung in his ears, accompanied by the pop of an old camera that sounded too much like gunfire, and the image of red wine, spilled like blood across white.

Steve caught the bag in his hands, steadying it, stopping before he broke this one too. He leaned his forehead against the material, breathing hard, screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to block it all out. It didn't work too well, though. Ever since Ultron had voiced that harsh but undeniable truth about him, about the fact that he was still trying to fight a war that had ended over seventy years before, those words had haunted him. They were at the back of his mind constantly, came to him in dreams that turned into nightmares. It was all too much sometimes. He bottled all his troubles up, locked them away nice and tight, but the second his defenses were down—which was mostly at night when he tried to sleep—they crawled back out, tearing him apart from the inside. It wasn't just Ultron or Wanda Maximoff's vision either—it was Bucky and the ice and the fact that he hadn't felt truly at home in a long, _long_ time.

 _We can go home, Steve._

And he could see it. Peggy and him. Their dance ( _the one they never got_ ). The home they could've had together ( _but he died and she lived on and home was nothing but a big empty room_ ).

It was somewhat better now. He was doing what he loved, what he was good at—leading a team of people and preparing them for the next war. The war that seemed to swim in his veins and live in his heart. _The war's over. We can go home._ Having friends here helped make things better as well. Sam, of course, he had a close bond with. And, despite the vision she had inflicted upon him, Steve found himself quickly taking a liking to Wanda Maximoff. Rhodey was easy to like, and Vision was still so innocent and naïve in his thinking sometimes—not unlike him at times—that it was hard not to be drawn to the JARVIS-sounding android.

Then, of course, there was Natasha.

Natasha who, despite how frustrating and vague and closed-off she could be, he missed like crazy over the past year they'd been separated. He didn't even realize how close they'd gotten, how much he enjoyed working with her and the newfound friendship they'd formed while on the run, until she was walking away from him in that cemetery. He'd watched her walk away as the word _stay_ trembled on his tongue but didn't make it past his lips. Because even though he would call them friends—which they were— _friends_ didn't always seem like a strong enough word. And he'd thought maybe, _maybe,_ she'd felt the same way, what with the way her kiss had been burning on his cheek for the past twelve months every time he thought of her.

But then they'd regrouped as the Avengers once again and discovered that Banner had become the object of her affections.

So he distanced himself.

They'd already spent a year apart, a little more time would be nothing.

At least, that's what he told himself.

He started calling her Romanoff again, though it sounded odd and foreign on his lips. When the Avengers started raiding Hydra bases in search of Loki's scepter, he started working more with Thor. He watched Natasha—who was seemingly unaffected or oblivious, which was unlikely for her—as she worked with Clint. At some point the lullaby for the Hulk came into existence. The lullaby which, at first, had seemed like nothing more than a platonic way of taming Banner when he went green. And then he'd started to notice all her glances towards Banner, the whispered conversations they had on the Helicarrier. He tried not to notice, but it was hard. Natasha, with her fiery hair and even more fiery spirit, was pretty hard not to notice. Especially given how he felt about her.

He tried to convince himself that he wasn't jealous but that was pretty useless. He knew he was jealous. He probably didn't need to anyway. Natasha had told him enough times that he wore his heart on his sleeve. Or his face. " _You're a terrible liar_ " she would tell him. As readable as a book, though he was getting better. And yet, for apparently being as transparent as he was, _why couldn't she see how much this was hurting him?_ And then he pushed that away because it was incredibly selfish, and despite how very selfish he wanted to be for Natasha, he cared about her and her happiness far too much for that.

 _Too late,_ he thought. Too late he'd figured out how he felt for Natasha, just like with Peggy. So he'd told Bruce to go for it. As long as Natasha was happy, he was all right. And since Bruce seemed to make her happy…well, he was still working on the _all right_ part, but she was still in his life, even if it was more distantly than before, and that was supposed to be all that mattered.

Steve took a breath and started hitting the bag again. Not quite as powerfully as before, but enough that the chains holding the bag to the ceiling shook dangerously.

His thoughts came more forcefully, in time with his fists as they struck the punching bag.

 _Distance yourself,_ he would think, even after Scarlet Witch toyed with Natasha's mind, her green eyes haunted, gazing back into a past that left her sweaty, dazed, and afraid. He wanted to go to her then, sit with her, in silence if she wanted. He had just wanted to be there if she _did_ feel like talking, or simply to give her the reassuring presence of a friend. But he'd let Clint take care of her, let Clint lead her into the home Steve didn't know the archer had. _The war's over. We can go home. We can go home, Steve. Home._ Which Steve didn't have, didn't know if he would ever find again. Watched Natasha, who was just about the closest thing he'd felt to home since coming out of the ice, blend seamlessly into her best friend's family. " _Auntie Nat?_ " he could've teased her, but instead he turned away, trying not to think of Natasha or Peggy or home or the wine that looked like blood or the war that he sometimes felt he was nothing without.

There was the banter at the table, her teasing him about bad language, and it nearly felt like old times. And to make it better, he'd gotten to work with her and Clint—Strike Team Delta and Captain America, a nearly unstoppable force. He'd fought Ultron, she'd held his shield like a natural. And yet, he had to remind, _distance yourself._ He repeated it over and over in his head when she was taken by Ultron himself, reminding himself that he was the leader, he was the Captain. He had to make the tough calls, even when he wanted to tear the world apart in search of her, though he knew full well she could take care of herself. He'd let Clint take point on locating her, let Bruce find her in Sokovia.

And yet, when it came down to it and they thought they were going to die, it was him and Natasha standing on the edge of the earth. The two of them against the world just like when SHIELD fell. She'd told him there were worse ways to go, and he had to agree.

 _Where else am I gonna get a view like this?_

She was looking out over the clouds but he was looking at her.

And then, despite the distance between them, despite her and Bruce and whatever else, he was content. Maybe not quite happy, but content. It was him and her and that was all that mattered. Of course, Fury showed up with a damn Helicarrier and they didn't end up dying after all, but the feeling of that moment didn't go away, and he bottled that up too, locking it up tight for whenever he would need it later.

-:-

Natasha woke with her fists clenched in the blankets, a scream dying in her throat as she let out a muffled gasp into her pillow. Her fingers stayed curled in the bedspread as she took deep breaths, blinking the sleep from her eyes, and tried to banish the last cobwebs of her nightmare. There was always nightmares. Every once in a while she would have a night where no images—good _or_ bad—disturbed her sleep. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd had an honest to god _good_ dream. But there were always the nightmares. Her steady companion in the dead of night when her defenses were down and the nightmares could creep in, pulling memories from the dark recesses of her conscience, burying her in the terrifying images and sounds and smells and the feeling of blood between her fingers until she was six feet under.

Slowly, Natasha pulled herself from the suddenly cold feeling of her bed, rubbing at her temples as she made her way to the small bathroom connected to her bedroom of the New Avengers facility. She turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face. It cooled her heated skin but didn't do much for the images of her past stuck behind her eyes. Dreaming about her past wasn't anything new for her; the Red Room dominated her dreams far more than she would like.

Lately, though, she'd been seeing the ballerinas.

 _He's going to break them._

 _Only the breakable ones._

 _He's going to break them._

 _They broke. She didn't._

They would dance to the sound of Tchaikovsky and sometimes Russian lullabies, gunfire and the sound of blood dripping onto the floor. In her nightmares Natasha would watch the dancers before it shifted to the cold weight of guns in her palms. She executed men without faces, still to the sound of piano keys and gunfire, then the dropping of shells onto the smooth floor. Metal guns in her hands, cold metal against her skin, metal around her wrists, chaining her up at night like the monster she was… _is_ …

 _She's not sure which one it is anymore._

Natasha shut off the water and slowly padded back into her room, sitting down on the bed, hands braced against the edge of the mattress.

As always with these dreams of late, too, there was a red haze around the edges. It could've been blood, or it could've been Wanda Maximoff's magic. _She wasn't sure about that either._

Natasha had pretty much forgiven Wanda the memories she'd brought back. Natasha knew the girl had only been doing what she thought was right at the time. Natasha was not so different at that age. She hadn't known any other way in the Red Room, so she killed without mercy, without remorse, all to the music of gunfire and blood singing (screaming) in her veins. The glowing red tendrils of Wanda's magic still made her wary every so often, but Wanda had apologized—profusely—and she liked the kid too much to continue to blame her.

It's not like the memories weren't already there. Yes, they were not ones that Natasha particularity liked to revisit, so she'd locked them up tight, but she was slowly trying to face her memories, the ghosts of her past, and not just the ones Wanda had brought to the surface. Slowly, Natasha was figuring out who she was in this new reality of theirs, where people with powers were becoming more common, and Hydra was a constant threat. Where SHIELD, her tether for so long, had snapped and crumbled, and was now struggling to rebuild itself and redeem its tarnished name. A reality where everything about her was out in the world, leaving her to figure out who she was under all the covers and lies.

And about the only thing she'd concluded was that she was Natalia and Natasha and Black Widow and an Avenger and a killer and she didn't know where she fit it.

 _We have no place in this world._

For a year she'd been trying to figure things out…ever since she walked away from Steve in that cemetery.

 _Steve…_

Steve, who she hadn't seen in a year and had only shared a dozen or so phone calls with. He'd called her a lot at the beginning, but it had taken her a long time to actually start picking up the phone. She didn't know why she didn't pick up. She had been…nervous? Scared? A coward. _You are made of marble. You will not break. She didn't. Then she did._

And when they did talk, she really only called to see how his search for Bucky was going, and he only asked to see how she was doing in general, to which she'd always responded with "fine". She knew he probably didn't believe her most of the time when she said that, but there was no way in hell she was going to tell him that she wanted him, needed him. That she'd wanted him, so desperately, to chase after her in that cemetery. Because she had been about to embark on soul-searching journey and that terrified her. The thought of shining a flashlight on all the darkest corners of her heart, pulling down all the cobwebs from the nooks and crannies of her mind, well, she'd rather fight a Chitauri army. At least if he had been there, his presence alone would have helped. He'd always seen exactly who she was under all her masks.

But she hadn't looked back at him in that cemetery, just kept taking one painful step at a time, hoping, praying, that his footsteps would follow and he would ask her to stay.

He didn't.

She left.

 _We have no place in this world._

The feeling of missing him and wanting him and needing him and hating him and realizing that she maybe sort of loved him stayed with her the whole year. It all twisted and tangled and knotted inside of her like a mass of Christmas lights. It ached and burned until there was a hole she know only Steve could fill.

But she didn't go to him.

He didn't come to her.

And she missed him so much it hurt. Those kind of feelings were so unfamiliar. She hadn't felt anything that strong in such a long time that she'd forgotten what it was like. As a child of the Red Room she had been taught that feelings, emotions, _love_ , it would only get her killed. She had to be absolutely ruthless, unfeeling, cruel, and that meant there was no room inside of her for feelings like the ones Steve gave her. The perfect weapon. _You are made of marble._ But now, rediscovering who she was, figuring out how to fit the Black Widow and Natalia Romanova in with Natasha Romanoff, she was finding out that she wasn't so much incapable of love or feelings, but rather that she felt and loved so _deeply_. _They_ had seen it, too, in the Red Room. That she loved with every fiber of her being, with everything she had, cared so strongly for others. And with that, they'd seen that she could also tear anyone apart with enough hatred to blacken even the devil's soul. So they'd ripped out the love and honed the hate, filling her with it, perfecting it. _Black Widow._

For the longest time all she thought herself capable of was hate. Then Clint found her. He gave her a second chance when no one else would and started to remind her what it was like to be human again. _She hadn't been human in so long…_ Clint taught her that she didn't need handcuffs to hold herself down, she could do it herself. He taught her that she wasn't _theirs_ anymore. He helped her let go of Natalia and become Natasha, the better version of herself. Clint helped stitch her up, gave her first an intimacy she'd long forgotten about, and then a friend she could tell her deepest, darkest secrets to and know that he would take them to the grave.

Then Steve, the _last_ person she would've expected to come into her life and completely flip it upside down, gave her _trust,_ something only a handful of people had given her since being christened as Natasha Romanoff. Steve reminded her, without any words that she was a good person, she was doing the right thing, that she was a _hero_ even if she didn't believe it. He reminded her of who she was, what she had worked so hard to do, guiding her through the dark of her past even if he didn't realize it. He _saved_ her. She couldn't pinpoint an exact moment, but he'd given her the strength to let go of her past in some ways, and embrace it as a part of her in others. She'd put her life in his hands long before he did the same just because she _knew,_ she knew he could be trusted with that weight. Only, she didn't realize at the time that it was the weight of her heavy, battered heart she was giving him.

And she'd walked away while leaving it with him.

Sometime during their year apart Natasha thought that maybe that was for the best. She still wasn't sure what to do with the feelings she had for him. She didn't know if it was just a deep friendship or actually love, but until then, she wanted to keep him safe from whatever it was she felt. Not that he needed to be _protected_ from her, but she didn't want to hurt him, especially if she wasn't completely sure about her feelings. She knew how much he'd been through, and even from just the files she'd read and what he'd told her, he carried a heavy burden, nearly a hundred years' worth.

She didn't want to add to that weight, so she kept what she felt locked up tight.

Steve felt like a secret. Her own little wish-upon-a-star that she kept close to her heart and didn't tell anyone about, not even Clint. Because of this, she realized sometime during their year apart, that she needed to distance herself from him. Initially she told herself it was to protect him, make sure she didn't hurt him, and give him some space. But then that reasoning got mixed up with protecting her own heart, and now she couldn't tell the difference.

All the more reason to distance herself.

Their reunion when the band got back together was brief, and she immediately chose to work more closely with Clint. If Steve was bothered by her choice, he was sure as hell getting a lot better at hiding it.

Then came the lullaby. It sort of just… _happened._ The Hulk had needed calming down after a mission, so she went, even though there was still a part of her that couldn't forget the terror she'd felt when the Hulk had chased her through that Helicarrier and nearly crushed her to death. But the lullaby had worked and they soon perfected it. And during that time, she grew closer to Bruce too.

At first she noticed it helped her take her mind of Steve, and then she really started to like Bruce. The lullaby gave her a connection with the Hulk (and Bruce) no one, not even Tony, had. She found herself relating to Bruce. Not only because they were the same in many ways, but also because Bruce was so entirely _different._ Despite the monster inside of him, he didn't _want_ to fight. He'd never wanted to fight. Natasha had _always_ fought. She couldn't remember a time when she didn't have a gun in her hand, a knife in her belt, blood on her fingers. But, differences aside, they were both monsters. Him because of a science project gone sideways, turning his human anger into something much more physical and real. She was a monster because of the killer in her that was brought ( _beaten_ ) out of her when she was a child.

They both hated their own beasts, but she found herself fascinated, drawn in by Bruce's "other guy". And as she they grew closer, she (foolishly) thought that by relating to Bruce's monster, by dancing with the beast, she could somehow ignore her own.

She was so very wrong in her thinking.

But that didn't matter, didn't even cross her mind, until later. In the moment, all that mattered was that she and Bruce were similar. And she'd wanted to explore that.

But Bruce didn't.

Part of her knew that, given their age difference, he thought of her as a child. Not adult enough to make her own decisions on who she wanted to be with. He didn't understand until she told him that he made her feel like she could give up the war she'd been waging her whole life. With him, she could learn to put down her guns, give up the fight. He only saw this as needing to give her a life worth living with him, not understanding that just being with him would be enough.

But, god, she was still _so_ tempted to run away with him, even if he didn't think he was right for her. She had been so ready, for a moment, to drop everything and run until she couldn't even see the sunset they were running into.

But she hadn't given up. She'd picked up her guns and fought because that's who she was: a fighter. She thought he would understand. They had to finish the fight against Ultron and then she was his. They could figure out their monsters together once they'd finished their duty as Avengers. _He had to know,_ she'd told herself. _Bruce had to understand why she couldn't just leave._ She would never have forgiven herself if she'd just walked away like that, not when the team needed her. Not when those civilians and the world needed her. Because if Steve had taught her one thing, it was that she was a hero, and that meant they had to do what others could not, even if that meant risking their own lives.

And she'd been willing to die, too, when it seemed like they wouldn't succeed in saving everyone. And, as fate would have it, it had been Steve at her side as the earth rose into the sky, higher and higher until there wasn't enough air in her lungs to breathe, much less tell him how grateful she was that _he_ was the one by her side. And _god_ she'd wanted to tell him, too. A whole year and nothing but a couple of phone calls and suddenly he was right there at her side and she'd never missed him more. She wanted to tell him that she hated when he called her Romanoff, wanted to tell him that though she cared about Bruce, she hadn't spent _a whole fucking year_ missing Bruce, wanted to tell him that she couldn't bear the thought of him dying, even if it was by her side, because the world needed Captain America just as much as she needed Steve Rogers.

But they hadn't died. Not all of them. They mourned for Pietro, but at the end of the day, the world only saw that the Avengers had saved the day once again. And still, Natasha said nothing to Steve. Clint went home, Tony went off to maybe find his own slice of paradise with Pepper, and Bruce was gone.

 _Bruce was gone._ She'd thought he'd understood…they had to put the world first, because they were Avengers. It wasn't always fair, but that's what they'd signed up for. If they weren't going to protect innocent people from the threats they couldn't understand, who would? They could have died, sure, but they didn't. They could run away for a little while. Maybe find some island somewhere that Tony didn't own. Tame their monsters while soaking up some sun.

But he'd left. He'd shut her out and left her with barely a word, barely a warning.

It hurt like a bitch.

Natasha had thought that with Bruce, she could try and move on from Steve, try and figure out who she was with someone who understood what it was like to have a monster inside of them they couldn't control. But, god, she was a _fool,_ a goddamn _fool_ for thinking that she and Bruce would work out. They were on different paths, different points in their lives, but she thought they could have made it work. She was pretty sure he cared about her, but clearly not enough to stay with her.

She certainly didn't feel like marble. She was sand, slipping and sliding through her own fingers faster than she could try and stop it.

She missed Bruce. She cared for him a lot. She'd given him her heart, confessed to him things that she hadn't even confessed to Clint or Steve. He'd taken it gingerly into his hand and then dropped it somewhere in the ocean when he was flying over it in that Quinjet.

He left and she was drowning.

-:-

Steve was so focused on the punching bag in front of him that he didn't notice Natasha was in the room until she spoke.

"Been a while since you've done that," her voice echoed in the otherwise quiet gym. He spun around and then followed her gaze to the far wall where she was looking at the punching bag he'd split open earlier. He hadn't cleaned it up yet and sand still littered the floor like a pathetic, half-hearted indoor beach.

Still breathing hard, Steve looked back at Natasha, giving her a quick once-over before meeting her gaze. She was wearing a plain gray zip-up hoodie (that might have actually been his) and a pair of plaid sleep shorts. Her hair—which had grown out to just brush the tops of her shoulders in the two months since they'd defeated Ultron—was slightly mussed from sleep. There was still a little bit of yesterday's make-up smudged around her eyes. _Damn, she was beautiful._ He blushed and was glad she wouldn't be able to tell under the already pink flush to his cheeks from working out.

Natasha padded forward, her bare feet quiet on the floor, and she handed him a damp towel.

"Thanks," he breathed, toweling the sweat off his face. "So, what are you doing down here?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk lifting up the corners of her mouth. "I could ask you the same thing."

He exhaled, realizing just how ridiculous his question had been. He tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I couldn't sleep," he told her. "Got a lot on my mind."

Natasha nodded towards the broken punching bag. "I can tell."

"What about you?" he asked quickly, turning the attention off himself.

"Same as you," she replied quietly, still with a small hint of a smile on her face, but the amusement had faded from her eyes. "Couldn't sleep."

"Nightmares," he stated, not needing to ask. He knew. Nightmares were just as familiar to him and he recognized the haunted look in her eyes.

Natasha nodded in response, dragging her gaze downward.

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked her softly.

She shifted her feet, still looking sway from him. "Not really."

"Fair enough."

There was a pause and Steve ducked his head for a moment. When he looked back up he found that she was looking at him too. Steve held her gaze for what felt like forever. He knew that it was almost four in the morning, but he couldn't get over how quiet it was. He swore he could almost hear her heart beating. His own heart thudded with a dozen different emotions, and he suddenly couldn't remember why he'd ever let her walk away from him.

"What about you?" she asked suddenly, breaking the thick silence. "You said you had a lot on your mind…" she trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

He shook his head, brushing her off. "It's nothing, really."

She smirked. "Tell that to the punching bag on the floor."

Steve gave a little chuckle. He didn't know if he could—or even really wanted to—share all the thoughts swirling around in his head, but if it meant he could spend a little more time with her, just the two of them, he would tell her anything. He'd missed her company so badly, missed the friendship and comradery they'd had a year ago. They were starting to regain that, a little more each day, but there was still something off between them. That year of time they'd spent separated a constant elephant in the room.

He exhaled slowly. "Look, uh, you seem like you could blow off a little steam," he said, tilting his head towards the boxing ring, "you wanna go a few rounds?"

If Natasha was put-off by his rapid change in subject, she didn't show it. She nodded and a grin slowly spread across her face. "Sure. Bring it on, old man."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, shut up."

She just laughed. "I'm gonna go change. Be right back."

Steve nodded and watched her head off to the locker rooms. He grabbed his water bottle and took a drink before climbing into the ring to wait for Natasha.

She came out a few minutes later, dressed in gray and blue Nikes, plain black athletic shorts, and a loose-fitting tank-top. Her hair was up in a ponytail. She normally wore it down, but as she grew it out she would put it up every once in a while, which Steve liked more than he thought he would. As she climbed into the boxing ring with him, he noticed her hands were wrapped like his.

"Ready?" she asked, smile on her face. "Need to grab your cane or anything before we get started?"

He smiled broadly at her in response, lifting his hands as he crouched into a fighting position.

They started off slow. They exchanged punches and a few kicks, blocking or ducking underneath the other's blows, staying pretty evenly matched the whole time.

"So," Natasha said breathily, pressing a little harder, moving a little faster in her attacks. "You gonna tell me what's on your mind?"

Steve ducked under a kick of hers, twisting around behind her. He moved to catch her from behind and bring her down onto the mat, but she was fast, spinning around and blocking his blow with her forearm.

"Well?" she asked, their faces only six inches apart.

He grunted and stepped out of her grasp, getting back into his original fighting stance as they started circling each other again. "It's nothing," he repeated from earlier.

"Come on," she said disbelievingly, moving to attack him again.

After blocking her, Steve rapidly threw a few punches her way. She dodged two of them, but didn't move quite fast enough on the third one and his fist grazed her side. He knew better than to apologize. She brushed it off like it was nothing anyway.

He exhaled. "It's kind of…everything." He admitted finally.

"That's vague," she replied, trying to take advantage of his momentary pause by swinging out fast with her foot. He just barely jumped back, the sole of her shoe skimming across his abdomen.

He pressed forward and their fighting picked up speed again, their attacks coming faster and getting more elaborate.

"Well," he said quickly, leaning back from a punch of hers, "it's Bucky and Ultron and…" he went on to explain how he felt like he'd failed Bucky, how he couldn't save Bucky from the train and he couldn't even save him now. He talked about how bad some of his nightmares had been. He puffed out a breath, "it was just a long past year, is all." He finished as they sparred.

Natasha was quiet a long time, her fighting only getting more intense. Given how hard they were both sparring, they were both sweating at this point. A couple of strands of hair that had flown free from her ponytail stuck to Natasha's forehead.

"It was a long year for all of us," Natasha said finally, almost under her breath.

Steve stepped back for a moment and they both paused, sweaty and breathing hard. He looked at her, the firm line of her mouth, the hardness in her green eyes. She was almost looking at him accusingly. He frowned, brow furrowing.

"That's vague," he said, quoting her from earlier.

She scoffed, clearly unamused. "It's nothing, never mind."

Steve shook his head, now his turn to scoff. "No, you don't get to _do that_. I try to tell you what's going on with me and then you just turn around and shut me out. That's not fair."

She shrugged, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. "Yeah, well, there's a lot of things in life that aren't _fair_ , Steve."

"Come on, you know what I meant," he shot back, taking a step towards her. She crossed her arms over her chest, watching him, standing firm. "I thought we trusted each other? What happened to that?"

Natasha clenched her jaw, looked away for a moment. When she turned her gaze back to him, her eyes were shiny, but hard with anger and sadness and hurt. "You left."

The words were quiet, accusatory, and there were only two of them, but they sent Steve's heart plummeting straight to the floor. She stared at him, surely watching his face fall as he processed her words.

And then he got angry, gritting his teeth. _He wasn't the only one to blame here_. He took another step forward so they were just over a foot apart.

"You're the one who walked away, Natasha," he said, barely noticing that it was the first time in a long time that he'd used her first name. He wasn't even surprised at how hurt he sounded because this had been burning a hole inside of him for a year. "Don't start blaming me for all of this because you walked away, remember?"

"You could have come after me!" she shot back, raising her voice, hands falling into fists at her sides. "Why didn't you ask me to come with you?"

"I was giving you space! That's what you wanted! You said you had things to figure out, a new cover to find, and I was letting you do that. I didn't want to interfere," he told her, trying to rein in his anger a little bit. "Besides…didn't seem like you wanted the company anyway since you told me to ask Sharon out."

If possible, Natasha clenched her jaw even harder. Her eyes were like stone, but then she ducked her head for a moment, exhaling, and he knew he'd hit a spot with that last comment. Which, of course, she then chose to ignore.

"You still could have asked me to come with you," she pointed out, slowly lifting her eyes to meet his again. "You could have come after me," she repeated.

"And you could have asked to come with me!" he raised his voice again, frustrated. "Dammit, I mean are we seriously going to do this all night? Point fingers and see which one of us is most guilty?"

"Well, it takes two, Steve," Natasha said, suddenly very calm. "Like you said, we're both to blame."

Steve took a breath. "I wanted to ask you to come. I did. But I let you go. I gave you your space. And when I worked up the courage to actually ask you…well, you wouldn't even pick up the damn phone." His voice grew softer and softer, finally breaking at the end. She met his gaze, unshed tears burning in her eyes. Looking at her, he could feel all his anger and his hurt from the past year building up inside of him. All his unsaid words, everything he hadn't done, it made him _furious._ He was mad at himself, mad at her, and he suddenly had no control over what came out of his mouth.

"I was looking for Bucky, Nat, but I had time. You could have come seen me if you didn't want to talk over the phone. I would've gone to you if you had bothered to pick up the damn phone in the first place," he accused angrily. "So don't keep making me the bad guy here. I was there, I was reaching out to you. Where the hell were you?"

"I was right here!" Natasha exploded, and for a minute Steve thought they were going to start fighting each other again, but not in the friendly, sparring way. "I was right here trying to figure out who the hell I am! SHIELD was gone, you were gone. Every goddamn thing about me was on the internet and I had no clue what to do. Like I said, this last year was hard. You wouldn't understand. You're _Captain America._ Mr. Golden Boy. You have no idea what it's like to be a monster, to be hunted. To be hated."

A few defiant tears had slipped down her cheeks but she seemed to not notice them. The venom in her voice would have been enough to make anyone else cower and crawl into the corner with their tail tucked between their legs. Steve stood his ground though, meeting her head-on.

"Is that where _Banner_ comes in?" Steve asked before he could even think about the words. "Another monster to help you figure out who you are?"

God, he hated it. The words burned like acid as they rolled off his tongue, but he couldn't help it. All his self-control had gone out the window long before.

" _Don't,_ " Natasha warned, all trace of tears gone, her voice icy hard and scary quiet. "That is none of your goddamn business—!"

"It is my business!" Steve shouted back. "It's my business when a member of my team is distracted because her boyfriend is AWOL!"

He hated the words the second they were out of his mouth. He wished he could take them back, swallow them down. _God, this was so unlike him._ He was being petty, jealous, and angry. He hated himself for it. Natasha had recoiled like he'd slapped her. She composed herself quickly, though. Pure, fiery anger twisted her features. She struck out with a fist, connecting with his jaw hard enough to send his head snapping sideways. Then she lunged at him, kicking his feet out from under him, pinning him down to the mat, knee against his chest, her forearm against his throat. Steve did nothing to stop her. They were both breathing hard and Natasha looked like she was debating whether or not to punch him in the face again. She pressed down a little harder on his throat, the pressure quickly becoming uncomfortable.

"Fuck you, Rogers," she finally said, voice dangerously soft and low, but close to breaking, liked cracked glass. She slowly pulled herself off of him, never pulling her eyes off him as he stood. "You have _no right_ to say that. And don't be a fucking hypocrite! If anyone's distracted, it's you! Half your mind here, the other half wherever the hell your so-called best friend is."

Steve clenched his jaw at that, but kept quiet, turning the words he wanted to say into fists at his sides.

Natasha turned halfway to leave, but changed her mind, pivoting back towards him. "And it actually _isn't_ your business. About me and Bruce. I can see whoever I damn well please. You don't own me, Rogers. I can make my own damn decisions."

Steve stepped forward angrily. "Right," he scoffed. "I'd almost forgotten. You're _Natasha Romanoff_. You don't need anyone. You've got it all covered, right? Well, I will just stay out of your way then. Strictly professional between us. Shouldn't be too hard."

She glared at him but didn't say anything.

He tipped her head politely at her. "Goodnight then, Ms. Romanoff."

Steve turned and stepped out of the ring. He grabbed his bag and headed out of the gym, without even a second look back in her direction.

 **-:-**

 **Soundtrack for this chapter:**

 **- _Homesick_ by Sleeping At Last (general song for chapter)**

 **- _Here With Me_ by Susie Suh and Robert Koch (that year apart and then coming back together, both Steve and Nat's POV)**

 **- _This Love_ by Taylor Swift (basically their feelings/relationship at this point, Steve's POV)**

 **- _Say Something_ by A Great Big World (Steve/Nat fight, both POVs)**

 **I will get the second part of this up within the next week! And this is also on ao3!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-DaughterOfPoseidon333**


	2. Expert In Waiting Too Long

**Hey guys! So sorry this took a week longer to get up than I promised! I was a little busier than I expected this last week and didn't have a whole lot of time to write.**

 **Thank you all so much for the support; it really means the world to me!**

 **Again, title is taken from Sleeping At Last's** _ **Homesick**_ **. See the end for this chapter's soundtrack.**

 **If there's typos, I apologize. My editing might not have been as thorough because I really just wanted to post this.**

 **I don't own Avengers.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-:-**

Natasha felt like shit.

She'd just stood in the boxing ring for a good twenty minutes after Steve left, tears slowly burning their way down her cheeks. She finally found her feet, grabbed her stuff, and walked back to her room. She was worked-up, angry, and exhausted. She felt sick to her stomach, heart aching in her chest and a bad taste in her mouth. She and Steve—even after they'd first been assigned as partners and were still getting along and learning to work as a team—had _never_ fought that badly. She was angry at him, and even angrier at herself. All the words they'd said ( _and all the ones she didn't_ ) burned in the back of her mind, spun around, played on repeat, creating their own remixes that made her feel worse and worse.

Natasha breathed a deep sigh of relief once she was safely shut inside her room. She took a second to compose herself before setting her stuff down and heading into the bathroom. She stripped off her gym clothes, turned on the shower, and stepped in. She kept it cold, trying to cool her heated skin. She washed mechanically, barely feeling the soap clean the sweat and grime off. By the time she was done, she still didn't feel any better.

As she toweled off, Natasha grabbed her phone, quickly finding Clint's number. Running a hand through her damp hair, she pressed call. It rang several times, and she wondered why the hell he wasn't picking up until she remembered that it was only around 4:30 in the morning and he was probably sleeping.

Finally, he picked up. "'ello?" he muttered groggily.

"Clint, it's me," she said, her voice suddenly very weak. She felt her eyes burn and she bit the inside of her lip to keep any tears from falling.

"Nat?" he grumbled, sounding a little more alert. "I just put Nate back to sleep. I mean…what is it, five in the morning?"

"Not quite," she said.

He seemed to notice something was off and perked up even more. She could almost see him, running a hand down his face, sitting up in bed, Laura taking the opportunity to take more of the blankets.

"Nat, what's up? What's wrong?"

"I—" she choked. Taking a breath, she tried again. "I, um, can I just come up for a few days?"

"Sure," Clint said slowly. "Of course. What happened? Is everything all right?"

"I'll, um…I'll explain when I get there."

Clint paused, and she was sure that he was debating whether or not to push her. He didn't. "Okay," he replied. "Want me to come get you?"

"No, no, that's all right. I'll be there by tomorrow."

"Okay. See you then," he said.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Of course," he replied, voice incredibly tender. "Drive safe."

"I will," she promised, and then hung up.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha tossed her phone on the bed and stood up. She got dressed, not bothering with doing her hair or make-up. She opened up a duffle bag and started tossing things in, trying to get lost in the motion, focusing on what she needed. _Clothes, toothbrush, deodorant, phone…_ where the hell was her phone? _On the bed,_ her brain said. She exhaled sharply, annoyed, mostly with herself. She was never like this. Completely scatter-brained and flustered. Then again, there was no one quite like Steve, who made her feel things she'd never felt before, ranging all across the scale, from anger to devotion.

Natasha braced her hands against the edge of the bed, steadying herself, taking a few more deep breaths. She bit her bottom lip, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried, _tried so damn hard,_ not to think about the fight, not to think about her and Steve.

 _It's my business when a member of my team is distracted because her boyfriend is AWOL,_ he'd said. She'd punched him for it, but that hadn't made the hurt go away. She still couldn't quite believe Steve had said that. It was so unlike him. But they'd both said things they wouldn't normally have said. They'd pent up all their feelings for a year and she should've known that when those feelings finally exploded out, it wasn't going to be pretty.

But that phrase had hurt most of all because it was so damn close to the truth. She _was_ distracted. She wasn't putting her all into their new team. She'd find herself staring off into nothing or staring at walls like they were the most goddamn interesting thing in the whole world. Sometimes when she did this, she would think of all that had happened with Steve, with Bruce. What had happened to herself. And other times, her mind would be blank, and she wouldn't even realize she was staring at nothing until someone grabbed her attention.

But staring at walls was easier than confronting the fact that it hurt when Bruce left. It hurt when Steve left a year ago, but at least she knew he was coming back. Bruce she had no idea about. He could be gone another few days, months, years. He might never come back. And at this point, it didn't seem like he cared to let her know either way, didn't care enough just to call and say that he was all right, that he was somewhere safe. She often looked at her phone, even though she knew he wouldn't call, but it was just so hard to accept that he was _gone_. Just like that. Gone and left her to pick up the pieces. Gone, leaving her with nothing but a hole to fill walls with. Walls to stare at, walls to build up around herself once again.

Natasha had thought that Bruce was completely right for her, everything she ever could have wanted, because he was a monster too. God, how wrong she had been. She had been such a fool to think they could have any kind of future together. Bruce had basically said the same thing. But she hadn't listened. Bruce still tried though. He offered to take her away, maybe build a life by starting anew someplace else. Still, she hadn't listened. She'd stayed to fight Ultron, made him stay too. And when they'd won, there was no celebration between the two of them because he was gone and she was alone.

And now given how messed up things were between her and Steve, she felt even more alone.

Sighing, Natasha finished packing and then slung the duffle bag over her shoulder. She stepped out into the hall, closing the door to her room quietly behind her. She was halfway down the hall when someone called her name.

"Natasha?"

She turned to see Wanda Maximoff. Despite herself and how crappy she was feeling, Natasha smiled warmly at the girl. She really had taken a liking to Wanda and she actually felt herself relax a little bit in the girl's presence.

Wanda stepped forward. She was barefoot, wearing just a white nightgown, her black shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Wanda was hugging her arms across her chest, looking much smaller and younger than she did in training when she was wielding her powers.

"What are you doing up?" Natasha asked her gently.

"Couldn't sleep," Wanda murmured.

"A lot of that going around here tonight," Natasha muttered. Glancing down at the floor briefly. She looked back up at Wanda. "Bad dreams?" she asked softly.

Wanda nodded, chin wobbling just the slightest. Natasha watched as the younger girl took a breath before lifting her head a little higher. Natasha gave a small smile. Wanda was strong and learning just how strong she was a little more each day. And even though Wanda held so much power in the palm of her hands and could easily use it for evil, she had one of the biggest hearts Natasha had ever seen. She cared so much and so deeply. And she still had that heart even given what her and her brother went through. Wanda reminded Natasha a lot of herself. Except right now, Wanda Maximoff was definitely the stronger of them. Natasha was just about ready to break, her legs about to fail her.

Wanda seemed to sense it, too. Her brow furrowed in concern and she wrapped her shawl just a little tighter around her shoulders. "Are you okay, Natasha?" she asked. Then she seemed to notice the duffel bag on Natasha's shoulder for the first time and her brow furrowed even more. "Are you going somewhere? Are you leaving?" Wanda sounded worried, but also a little scared, and Natasha felt a pang in her heart.

Wanda got along with everybody at the new Avengers facility. She and Vision had hit it off right away and Sam and Rhodey were like big brother to her. But, aside from Natasha, she was the only female on the team, and because of that they'd bonded rather closely.

Natasha knew that Wanda still dreamt about her brother's death. Some nights were worse than others. The worst night had happened about a week after they'd all moved in to the facility. Wanda's nightmares had been so bad that she'd released her power in her sleep. They'd all gone rushing to Wanda's room when they heard her screaming, red energy shaking the entire building. The damage itself had luckily been contained to Wanda's room, but nearly everything in the room had been destroyed. There had been glass on the floor, cutting up Wanda's palms and knees as she'd tried to clean it up. The dresser and bedside table had been blown apart, and Natasha had spent hours with Wanda picking splinters out of the girl's clothes. The boys had spent the rest of the night comforting her. Steve had hugged her for the longest time, Sam had made hot chocolate, Vision sat in silent vigil by Wanda's side, and Rhodey had tried to cheer her up by telling War Machine stories. She thought they were hilarious.

After that they moved her to the room next to Natasha's and the two of them had grown all the much closer. Natasha couldn't imagine how Wanda felt. First her brother had died, and now it seemed that one of her closest friends was leaving too.

Natasha gave the Maximoff girl a comforting smile, stepping up right in front of Wanda and taking one of her hands in hers. Wanda gave a little gasp, and Natasha was sure that the girl was getting impressions from Natasha through her magic.

"I'll just be gone a few days. Maybe a week," Natasha told her. "I just need a little time to myself."

Wanda looked at her for a couple beats, eyes searching Natasha's face. "Did something happen between you and Steve?"

Natasha bit the inside of her lip and gave a little nod. She didn't know why she was telling Wanda this. Maybe because she was sure that the girl had already seen what had gone down.

"It's nothing," Natasha said. A lie. Wanda surely knew that, too, but she didn't say anything. "I just need a little time to cool off."

Wanda nodded in understanding, giving Natasha's hand a squeeze. "Steve doesn't know you're leaving."

It wasn't a question.

"No, he doesn't," Natasha replied.

"I won't say anything to him," Wanda told her.

"Oh, no I couldn't ask you to lie to him," Natasha said.

Wanda gave a little smile. "Don't worry. If he asks, I'll say something. But until then, I'll keep quiet."

Natasha nodded, a small smile on her face. "Thank you, Wanda."

"Of course," the girl replied. "Be safe."

"I will. And I'll call you when I get there." Natasha stepped forward and placed a quick kiss to the girl's temple. "I'll be back soon. Try to get some sleep, Wanda."

When Natasha pulled back, Wanda gave her a nod, her eyes shining. Natasha just gave the girl one last smile and then waved before turning back down the hallway and heading out to the garage. She picked a car at random and tossed her stuff in the back seat before sliding into the front. Natasha took a few last deep breaths. A few minutes later she was on the highway, trying to focus on nothing but the road in front of her.

-:-

Steve had gone to bed feeling like crap and had woken up in pretty much the same state.

His fight with Natasha had let him angry and drained, torn between wanting to apologize right away and furiously not wanting to even look at her. He'd opted for the latter and stayed in his room. He'd showered and finally fallen asleep after what felt like forever of tossing and turning and replaying their heated conversation in his head. He'd woken up a little over an hour later when his alarm went off at 6:45. His head hurt and he had a bad taste in his mouth.

But he was team leader and he had to put on a good face.

He went into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. A quick look in the showed that he had a bruise where Natasha had punched him, but it already looked like it was a couple days old. It would probably be gone by that night. Steve got dressed, just pulling on workout attire for their first part of training that day. They all usually met at 8:00 in the morning. He knew that he was an early bird, unlike most of the rest of his team, so getting up at the time he did allowed him to grab something to eat, prepare for the day's training, and consult with Natasha. He grabbed an apple and a granola bar from the kitchen they all shared on that side of the facility, knew he had a plan for that day, but wasn't sure on the consulting with Natasha.

He wasn't completely cooled off from their fight, but they still had a team to run, and he supposed that he had to be the bigger person at the moment. He finished his meager breakfast and took a deep breath before making his way over to Natasha's room. He stared at the door forever. He was sure it was only a minute or two, but it felt like an eternity. He clenched and unclenched his hands, breathing slowly. Finally, he lifted a hand to the door and knocked. No reply. He knocked again. "Natasha?" he called out. Still nothing. He frowned. She _could_ just be ignoring him, but he wasn't so sure.

"Natasha, I'm coming in," he announced, slowly turning the knob and swinging the door open. He switched on the light and looked around. The bathroom door was open so he could see she wasn't in there. The bed was unmade, the covers half on the floor. Her dresser had drawers half open, some closed, clothes sticking out here and there. The closet doors were half open as well. Steve felt his unease grow. Her room was a mess, and Natasha was a very neat and orderly person. Probably not quite as much of a neat-freak as he was at times, but she was organized. And her room was the exact opposite of that at the moment.

A part of him thought she could already be up, probably somewhere else in the facility, but his gut told him otherwise. On a hunch, he stepped further into the room, right up next to the bed. He lifted up her pillows and even checked the drawer in the nightstand. Nothing. He knew she kept a gun with her, but it wasn't here. And he knew that if Natasha was still in the building, she would've left her gun. Steve didn't even need to check security footage or the garage.

Natasha was gone.

He exhaled slowly. He should've been pissed that she just took off, but he understood. They needed their space from each other, and she'd decided to take her space somewhere else. He was still a little angry, but it was mostly from last night. And it was no big deal really. She would cool off, they both would, and then she would be back in just a few days. He nodded, as if telling himself that was enough to make everything better.

Steve walked out of her room, quietly shutting the door, putting on his game face. He was still Captain America, after all.

As it turned out, a few days turned into a week. Then two.

Wanda admitted that she'd seen Natasha leave. Steve figured there was more to it than that, but that was all the information the Maximoff girl gave him, and it wasn't at all her fault that Natasha left, so he let it drop. The others (mostly Sam) asked several times where Natasha was and he just replied that she suddenly had to go on a business trip out of state. He wasn't sure if they (again, mostly Sam) believed him, but there was no way he was going to tell them that he'd fought with her and pretty much revealed that he was an angry, jealous mess.

"Natasha's not really on a business trip is she?" Sam asked one night after an especially long, hard day of training once all the others were gone. Even Steve was drained. All these training sessions with just him made him appreciate Natasha's partnership all the much more. _But she's not here right now,_ a voice in the back of his reminded. He ignored that.

"No," he told Sam, finally admitting out loud what Sam had known all along.

"Did something happen between you two? Is everything all right?" Sam asked.

Steve nodded. "We had a pretty bad fight. She's just taking some space. She'll be back soon."

Sam raised an eyebrow at that. "Did she tell you that, or are you just guessing?"

Steve frowned. "No, she didn't tell me, but it was just an argument. She won't stay gone forever."

But even as he said it, Steve wasn't so sure. After the first week of her being gone he'd texted her several times, checking in, asking where she was, if she was okay. Another week had gone by and he'd left a dozen more messages and almost as many voicemails (one of which he'd left drunkenly because he'd impulsively dug into the small stash of Asgardian mead Thor had left him. He didn't remember what he said in the message and he was pretty sure he didn't want to). But even after all those messages she still hadn't responded. He was starting to worry.

Sam still looked a little skeptical, but they were both too tired to argue. "All right, man. I'm gonna call it a night. Let me know if you need anything though."

Steve nodded numbly.

"I'm serious," Sam said gently. "And make sure you get some sleep."

"Thanks, Sam," Steve told him, before the other man headed out of the training center and disappeared down the hall.

Steve sighed and ran a hand down his face. He _was_ exhausted, but he doubted he'd actually be able to get much sleep. He just wish he knew if Natasha was okay…then it hit him. He almost smiled. He had a pretty good idea of where she was, but there was only one way to be sure…

He dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number he wanted. Two rings later and the other line picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Clint, it's Steve…"

-:-

"Hey, Nat," Clint's voice broke the silence and Natasha had to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

She'd been at Clint's house for two weeks, already a week more than she had originally planned. It had been nice, to have the space. She'd cooled off from her fight with Steve, but she still hadn't gone back to the Avengers facility. She knew it was just because she didn't have the courage to face Steve. Not yet. _But at this point you won't ever work up the courage and you'll just wither away here, sad and alone,_ a voice in the back of her head said. She scowled and turned back to the magazine in her hands. Not that she was really reading it, but she didn't want to talk to Clint because she knew what he was going to ask her.

"Nat," he said again. He poked her feet which were thrown across his lap as they sat on the couch. Nathaniel was asleep upstairs and Laura was at the store with Cooper and Lila.

" _Naaaaat,_ " Clint drew out her name and she groaned.

"What?" she snapped.

"Well, you know how, when you called me the other night at, like, four in the morning to say that you were coming over?"

"Yeah, what about it?" she asked, not even looking up at her best friend.

"Yeah, well, and then you said you'd tell me why you had to come out her oh-so suddenly?" he continued and she knew he was looking up at her from under his lashes, all faux-innocent.

Natasha didn't say anything.

"Anyway," Clint continued. "I was just wondering what that reason you had for coming up here was, because even though you _said_ you'd tell me, you never did—"

"Oh, don't even start using your dad voice on me, Clinton," she told him firmly, finally looking at him. She closed the magazine and tossed it on the coffee table before crossing her arms over her chest.

"Clinton? Really?" he asked, turning his torso towards her and mirroring her by crossing his arms over his chest as well. "What are you, my mother?"

"What are you, twelve?" she shot back right away.

He made a face at her. Natasha just stared him down until he stopped. Clint sighed, his features softening.

"Come on, Nat," he said gently. "I know something's up. Talk to me. I can help."

She bit her lip then slowly shook her head, pulling her gaze away from his face and looking anywhere but his face. "No," she said softly. "This is my problem. _I_ have to fix it."

There was a long pause, the silence hanging in the air like a noose, choking the air out of her lungs. She pulled her legs off Clint's lap, sitting up cross-legged on the other side of the couch. She knew, of course, that she could tell Clint anything. She had for a long time. There were things he knew about her that she probably didn't even know about herself. But this, everything that had been swimming around in her head for the past couple months, ever since they defeated Ultron, it was all so hard to put into words. How hard she had taken it when Bruce left, her distance from Steve, her fight with Steve. She didn't know how to tell Clint that even though it was her problem to fix, she was drowning and she had no idea how to swim out of the mess she'd made.

"Is this about Bruce?" Clint asked quietly, his eyes gentle as she lifted her head up to meet this gaze.

Natasha exhaled slowly. It seemed like she wouldn't even have to find the words to tell Clint what was going on. He knew her well enough that he could figure it out. She gave a slight nod. "A little," she replied.

"A little," Clint echoed. "What about the rest?"

She shook her head. _Breathe,_ she reminded herself as she tried to keep her emotions in check. Clint was quiet again, surely pondering what she'd told him and what she hadn't, trying to piece the puzzle together, even though half the pieces were missing.

"Is this about Steve?" Clint asked, somehow more softly than before.

Natasha swallowed thickly. She didn't have to say anything. Her silence was louder than any words, any excuse she could've given Clint. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him nod in understanding. Clint knew, knew how complicated it was between her and Steve, how conflicted she was over what she felt for Steve. He'd never really talked _to_ her about Steve, but he always listened. Her silent supporter. And even when things heated up between her and Bruce, Clint didn't say anything. Clint didn't mention the night she'd gotten drunk and sat on his porch…

She'd visited Clint a lot over the past year. She and Laura were good friends, and Natasha loved the kids. They'd been there when SHIELD fell, when she lost herself. She was a part of their family too. And she couldn't have been more thrilled when they told her they would be adding another member, her, Clint, and Laura quickly agreeing that the new baby would be named Natasha. (That is, until Natasha turned into Nathaniel).

Natasha had mostly made peace with the fact that she wasn't ever going to have kids of her own, or a family, but every once in a while it dug like a knife in her side, ripping open the stiches she'd pulled so taut a long time ago. She loved being Auntie Nat. More so than she would ever be able to put into words, but it still made her sad sometimes. Clint understood this, too. He just knew. Knew everything about her. And after one particularly bad night of feeling this way, and after a little too much alcohol, he'd found her sitting out on his porch.

They'd sat in the dark for a long time, with nothing but the crickets to fill the silence ( _not all that different to the way they were right now, on opposite sides of the couch with nothing but the subject of Steve to fill the space between them_ ).

" _You know, I keep t-thinking,_ " she'd slurred, rolling the bottle of vodka she had around in her hands, finally breaking the silence, " _about what…what it would be like to have a-a family…maybe if I'd never let them—_ "

" _Hey,_ " Clint had cut her off. " _Don't do that to yourself. It wasn't your fault. You didn't_ let _those bastards do anything. They forced you to give that possibility up. They took it from you and that's that. And they're going to fucking rot in hell for it."_

Though she'd been pretty inebriated, the weight of what Clint had said didn't go over her head, though all she could offer him in response was a mumbled thank you. They were silent again.

Then, " _I…I just wish Steve was here. I miss him. I just…maybe…._ "

After that it was pretty blurry. She only vaguely remembered Clint bringing her into the house, prying the vodka bottle from her fingers, and tucking her in. she was sure she said more, probably about Steve, but she couldn't remember. And the next morning, Clint didn't bring it up—not the drinking, the family thing, or Steve. She wouldn't told him she didn't remember any of it anyway.

But she _did_ remember. Some of it anyway. And right now, she knew Clint was thinking about the same thing. She twisted her hands in her lap, trying to swallow past the growing lump in her throat.

"Nat," Clint said softly, banishing away the last of the memory. "Something happened between you two, didn't it?"

"Yes," she said, surprised her voice didn't sound as broken as she felt. "We fought. It was bad, Clint," she whispered as he scooted right next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She laid her head against his chest, curling into his side. "We both said some pretty horrible things."

"I'm sorry, Nat," Clint murmured, briefly pressing his lips to the top her head.

"I haven't gone back because I don't know what to say to him," she continued.

"Just tell him the truth."

"Tried that. We just ended up screaming at each other…and then I punched him."

Clint twisted so he could look at her more easily. "You _punched_ him?"

She bit her lip and nodded. "Yeah. Like I said, we both said some pretty horrible things, and he said something that I didn't like and I just…hit him. I'm sure he's fine by now."

"Oh, well, then I guess that makes everything ok," Clint muttered.

She poked him hard in the stomach. "Don't be a smartass."

"Hey, you're the one hiding out here because you're too chicken to tell Captain America that you probably have feelings for him but things are complicated and in the end you just really don't want to lose him again because he's your second favorite best friend." Clint paused. "Obviously because _I'm_ your favorite."

Natasha leaned back and looked at her best friend quizzically.

"What?" he said. "I'm pretty spot on, right?"

Natasha rolled her eyes and slumped back against his side.

"I'll take that as a yes," Clint said. "Have you at least called him to let him know you're okay?"

"No," she muttered sheepishly. "I haven't even looked at my phone the past couple days."

Clint groaned. "My god, you're a mess,"

"Hey," she protested, sitting up again. "Aren't you supposed to be all supportive and whatnot?"

"Not when my best friend is being a stubborn pain in the ass."

Natasha exhaled, but she knew Clint was right. Yes, she was being stubborn. And childish. And though all that may have been a little bit warranted a few days ago, she knew Steve, and she knew he must be worried sick about her.

"Look, Tasha…I know a lot has happened over the last year," Clint started slowly, earnestly. "I know there's a lot been going on recently, too. What happened with Bruce…" he paused, as if trying to pick his words carefully. "I'll be honest, I didn't even know you were into him. I'm still not entirely sure what that all was, but if he made you happy, then I'm okay with it."

Natasha swallowed, unable to look away, because she knew what was coming next.

"But he left, Nat," Clint said, confirming what she'd thought, the harsh truth ringing in her ears. "Bruce left. Genius scientist or not, he's a dumbass for not seeing how lucky he was to have you." Clint reached out and squeezed her hand briefly and she gave him a wobbly smile. "I know it hurts, Natasha. But he _is_ gone. He hasn't bothered to contact you and it doesn't seem like he will anytime soon. But Steve is still here. And so what if he left last year. So what if you walked away too. Maybe you guys would've been better off sticking together after D.C., but you both needed some time to figure things out.

"Obviously you both had a little bit _too_ much time to sort things through, and that fucked things up for a while here. But you guys were a team once, and you have a second chance here to get it right," Clint continued. "You guys just need to sit down and have an honest to god conversation. No screaming at each other, not blaming each other, no punching" he gave her a pointed look, "you need to start fresh. A lot of shit has happened over the past year, but you need to start forgiving him. Better yet, you need to start forgiving yourself."

Natasha was quiet for a long time, unable to form words past the lump in her throat. She took Clint's hand again and squeezed. When she found her voice, she gave him a little smirk, "Spoken like a true dad."

"Aw, you just had to go and ruin the moment, didn't you?" Clint groaned.

She shrugged. "That's what best friends are for."

Clint waved his hand dismissively, but Natasha leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. "Seriously, thank you. I really needed to hear that," she told him when she pulled back.

"You're welcome," Clint replied. "See? I can be supportive. Now I'm gonna be even more supportive and tell you to call him. You don't even have to call him, really. But you should at least text him."

"Yeah," she replied quietly after a minute, half to herself. "You're right."

"Oh, what was that? Can you maybe say that one more time so I can record it for future proof that you said _I_ was _right,_ " Clint teased.

Natasha shoved his shoulder. "Shut up."

Clint leaned his head back and laughed. It was such a bright and happy laugh that Natasha cracked a smile, which grew wider and wider until she was grinning and just about bursting with laughter herself.

The moment was cut short when Nathaniel cried from upstairs. Clint gave her a sideways look and half a smile. "Dad duty calls," he said, pushing himself up off the couch. "Check your phone. Call him."

Clint turned away without waiting for a response and bounded up the stairs. She could hear him faintly go into little Nate's room and talk to him. She smiled a little to herself and followed suit, standing up and heading upstairs to the guest room and shut the door, the same room where she'd told Bruce that he wasn't the only monster on the team. Told him what they'd done to her, what they'd made her do. Told him that she was a killer, a liar, a manipulator, all of it feeding the beast inside. A killer with all the grace and beauty of a ballerina.

Natasha took a deep breath and sat down on the bed, digging her phone out of her bag. She turned it on and saw that she had almost two dozen texts and voicemails from Steve. A wave of guilt hit her, her stomach flipping over a couple times just thinking about how worried he must've been after she left.

She scrolled through her texts first. They started pretty simple, asking where she was, if she was okay. The ones from the last week were longer, more worried. All of them said to call him. She put a fist against her mouth to keep the sudden sob building in her chest from escaping. Though she'd cried a little immediately after their fight, she really hadn't allowed herself to fall apart. She'd been trying to cage her emotions, keep them locked up, but the bars were bending, breaking, cracking through her like she was made of paper, not marble. Her emotions, all her anger and guilt and sadness breaking her bones like they were glass thrown against a stone wall, splitting her skin like an earthquake. She was an earthquake. Trembling and shaking and falling apart. Anything but marble.

She clicked on the first voicemail, trying to steady her hands and keep her eyes dry. Steve's voice filtered through her phone, sounding exhausted:

 _Hey, Nat. It's me. I'm worried about you. Please call me back, just so I know you're okay. Um…yeah. Bye._

She nearly laughed at how terribly awkward he'd ended the message. She ran a hand through her hair and played the second one:

 _Nat, it's me again. It's been a week. Wanda said you might be gone this long but I haven't heard anything from you. Just worried about you, so if you could call back…you don't even have to tell me where you are, just let me know if you're okay._

Natasha took a deep breath, the air shaking in and out of her lungs.

 _Natasha, it's Steve again. I know you're mad, and that's okay, but it's been over a week. I'm getting really worried and I just…I just want to make sure you're okay. Please call me. I'm really sorry, okay, but I'd really like to talk to you in person or on the phone. Talking at all would be nice. This whole one-sided thing is getting boring._ He gave an awkward laugh and Natasha smiled to herself. _Anyway…just please call me, okay?_

Natasha closed her eyes, but the sting of tears didn't go away. She paused for a moment, hearing Clint out in the hall, accompanied by Nate's little noises. She heard Clint's phone ring, then heard him pick up before heading off downstairs.

 _Nat…Nat it's me. It's been a week and a half. I'm sure you already know that. I'm really worried and I….I need to know if you're okay. I'm sorry about what happened. I'd rather not do this in a message but…I'd just really like to hear your voice, just so I know you're doing okay. I don't want to leave things the way we left them, so please, please call me back._

A few tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them and she took a few more deep breaths. Why was this _so damn hard_? Well, she knew why. Steve made her feel anything and everything, and lately everything about him and her and _them_ made any control she had over her emotions go completely out the window.

She clicked the last message.

 _Hey, Nat. Um, so I, uh, had some of that Asgardian stuff Thor left me…maybe more than some…I think I—I'm drunk. I, um, I miss you. I reallyreallyreally hate that we fought so ba—badly. I said some bad things and I think I didn't mean them…I maybe meant some things a little…I don't like that you and Bruce, um…I mean you and me…I think…I just I missed you so much and that year and then I still miss you. That's funny, right? We see each other every day but I still miss you. I miss us. I would reallyreallyreally like you to call me. I want to see you…I want to see you…Natasha…Natasha Romanoff…_

He said her name dreamily, like they were the greatest syllables ever strung together across his tongue. There was a little more noise but then the message ended and Natasha was left with her hand against her mouth to keep everything she was feeling from spilling out. She was so full and so empty inside at the same time. She was breaking, _breaking_. An earthquake.

She couldn't call him. She didn't know what to say. How was she supposed to tell him that he made her feel like breaking apart, a million pieces spilling like sand in an hourglass? How was she supposed to tell him that he made her weak and so, so strong at the same time? He was so good and so moral and so wonderfully, beautifully _good,_ the exact opposite of what she'd trained to be, and that messed with her head and her heart. She was Black Widow and it was goddamn _unfathomable_ as to how he could trust her and accept her and possibly have feelings for her. She wasn't used to loving anyone ( _Black Widow did not love_ ) but _being loved_ was an even more foreign concept. And now that she'd possibly thrown all that away, she didn't know what to do.

-:-

Later that night, Natasha still hadn't called Steve, hadn't talked to Clint about, and only eaten when Lila had brought her a sandwich. Even then, Natasha had only nibbled, leaving half of it uneaten. She was just about to call it quits and settle in for the night when there was a knock on the bedroom door.

"Nat, it's me," Clint said, loud enough to be heard.

"Yeah, come in," she called back, twisting around from where she sat on the bed so she was facing the door.

The door opened slowly and Clint entered just as slowly, looking sheepish and guilty. She immediately narrowed her eyes at him.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked. "What did you do?"

Clint straightened a little. "Why do you always assume that I've done something?"

"Well, _did_ you do something?"

"Yes. No. Kind of. Not really. I mean, nothing's _wrong_ , per se, it's not bad, but it might not make you happy, but—"

"Clint," she snapped, getting his attention. "What is it?"

Clint made a face and then stepped out of the doorway. A second later Natasha was on her feet as Steve slowly stepped out of the shadows of the hallway and into her room. Steve looked even more sheepish and guilty than Clint had a minute ago. And, _god,_ she wanted to be mad at him still, she wanted to scream at him and then never talk to him again, but the way her heart beat, fast, fast, faster, told her otherwise. Natasha barely saw Clint anymore. It was just Steve. Steve, who looked tired and worn but still beautiful, blue eyes bright in the yellow light of the room, blonde hair only lightly mussed, back straight as he stood tall despite the defeated look on his face. He was wearing sneakers, jeans, and a plain black hoodie, half-zipped over a gray t-shirt.

"I'll, um, just leave you guys to, uh, talk," Clint muttered awkwardly, before backing out of the room and quietly shutting the door.

Steve shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking up at her from under his lashes. "Hey, Nat," he whispered, trying to smile.

"Hi," she managed to get out, though her feet seemed frozen in place, despite how much she just wanted to forget everything they'd said, everything they still had to say, and just fling herself into his arms.

"I'm, uh, sorry to just drop in like this," Steve started, voice a little more confident. "I, well, I had to see you. I was worried. And even though Clint said you were okay—"

"Did he tell you I was here?" she interrupted. "Clint, I mean."

"He just confirmed my suspicion," Steve said, giving her the tiniest wry smile. "I figured you'd be here, but I called to be sure. He said he was sworn to secrecy, but I might've begged just a little."

She cracked half a smile at that.

"Anyway," Steve continued. "Hill was heading out on one of the quinjets with a team of agents to go meet Fury about something. I hitched a ride and she dropped me off along the way."

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, shifting on his feet. "I know you maybe don't want to see me, and I understand if you're still mad, but I had to make sure you were okay. And I wanted to say I was sorry in person." He paused. "And I am, sorry that is. I am so, _so_ sorry, Nat. I said some really horrible things, and I had no right. I was…I was jealous. And angry. And I let that get the best of me. There might have been some truth to what I said, but I didn't _mean_ it. I wanted to talk to you about some things, but not like that. I never wanted to fight with you. I guess, maybe it was inevitable. But it's over now, and I'm really sorry, and when you're ready, I'd like to actually sit down and talk this time."

Silence.

Natasha was rooted in place, her eyes on Steve, everything she wanted to say stuck in her throat, struggling to form sentences. Steve's face fell the longer she went without saying anything. After a full minute or two of silence, Steve rubbed at the back of his head, then let his hands drop.

"I guess, um, I guess that's it," he said, voice defeated. "I'll just go. Just come back to base, when you're ready, okay?"

He tried to give her a smile, but failed miserably, and just turned to go.

"Wait!" Natasha blurted, finding her feet and lunging forward to grab his arm.

Steve stopped right away, relief and happiness and expectation and wariness and a million different things filling the blue of his eyes. Her hand moved slowly down his arm till her fingers grazed his hand. She swore both of them stopped breathing for just a second. Natasha knew for a fact that her heart was pounding like a bass drum in her chest, ribs surely seconds away from cracking under the pressure.

"I'm sorry," she said, reluctantly letting go of him, backing up a step. "I'm sorry, I just…sorry." God, when had she become so awful at this? She always knew what to say. But this was Steve. She should know by now that her reactions around him weren't always calm and composed.

Steve met her gaze, waiting for her to say something. Natasha took a deep breath, inhaling for what seemed like immeasurable seconds, before exhaling for just as long. She was wearing pajama shorts and an old long-sleeved shirt of Clint's, and she twisted her hands in the sleeves.

"You were just gonna leave without waiting for me to say something? What happened to that begging you were doing before on the phone with Clint?" she asked, finding that the quip came a lot easier in his presence than she thought it would. And it worked too. Steve gave a breathy little chuckle, his eyes twinkling a little brighter.

"I'm not very good at this," she breathed, twisting her hands a little tighter in the sleeves of her shirt. "I'll just start with I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry, Steve. I said some really awful things as well, and I know I was putting a lot of blame on you…I _did_ blame you. For a while anyway." She glanced up at Steve. His brow was wrinkled a little in concern, but he let her speak. "SHIELD was gone and then you left too and I didn't have an anchor of any kind. It was hard and I got mad at you and I shouldn't have. It's not your fault, I know that. I knew it then, too. At the time, I was just frustrated…scared," she said, biting her lip. "It's hard to find yourself when you've been living under a mask for almost your entire life."

She shrugged, trying to brush off what she'd said like it didn't matter, but the look on Steve's face told her that it mattered very much, and it mattered to him. He was leaning forward on the balls of his feet just the slightest, like he wanted to reach out to her, to touch her, to give her the human contact she so desperately had been craving the last month. Year. But she wouldn't allow anyone to give it to her. Mostly because she'd wanted it to be Steve, but he hadn't been there when she needed it most, and then she'd just been too goddamn stubborn to accept it.

Natasha swallowed, thinking of everything else that she should say. Her apology didn't seem like enough. There was so much more she had to say to him, so much more written in the beats of her heart and the catching of her breath that she so very desperately wanted him to know.

"I had feelings for you," she said abruptly, the surprise clear on his face. His lips parted a little, like he wanted to say something, but he held it back.

"I didn't realize it until D.C.," Natasha admitted, "and I figured…after you left…I kind of just told myself that it was for the best. I thought a little distance between us would be good, just to figure things out. Figure out exactly what it was that I felt for you."

Steve nodded, like he agreed and had thought the same thing. And, god, then she knew, she _knew_ that he'd felt the same way. They'd been dancing around each other, around their feelings, and they'd probably only half realized it, not sure if the other felt the same way. Part of her had known, but the rest of her had told her that it was impossible, impossible that Captain America could possibly feel that way about her. But it _was_ possible, and it was real, and they'd both thought it was best to be apart. God, they'd been fools.

"I don't know," she continued. "Things just got so screwed up. Those feelings for you never went away," ( _as she said it, she knew it was true_ ) "and when Tony called us back together…well, it was just so easy to blame you for everything that had happened. I was just so, so _mad_ at you for a while. It was irrational. It was fucking _stupid_. I acted like a child. And then, well, I didn't expect to get closer to Bruce and I…I liked him a lot more than I thought I would."

Steve's face tightened a little at Bruce's name, but she saw him take a breath and control himself. She knew he had nothing against Bruce personally, but Bruce had gotten caught up in the middle of her and Steve's problems and it just made the scientist a touchy subject.

Natasha licked her lips. "He's a lot like me in ways. That's part of why I was drawn to him. I thought maybe having someone else who was a monster would help me learn how to control my own. I was wrong on that part, but I think…I think I was also drawn to him because he wasn't _you._ " Steve's face was blanketed in surprise once again. Before he could say anything, though, Natasha stepped forward. "I realize now that I need you. We're partners. We do a lot better when we're together."

She took a breath, signaling to Steve that she was done for the moment. His forehead creased a little, corners of his mouth turned down just the slightest, like he was trying to digest everything she had said. He moved past her slowly and sat down on the edge of the bed. He ran his hands down his face before bracing them against his knees. He pinched his lips in a tight line before taking a breath and looking up at her.

"Does he make you happy?" Steve asked.

"What?"

Steve shrugged one shoulder. "Bruce. I just want to know if he makes you happy. I mean, what you said about…about having feelings for me, but you care about Bruce now and I just want to know if you're happy with him."

"Is that why you told him to go for it?" she asked, not answering his question. "Because you wanted me to be happy?"

Steve gawked at her. "Wha—how did you know about that?"

She took a step towards him. "It's my job to know things, Steve," she gave him a little smile. "I just don't understand. Clearly giving Bruce your blessing wasn't what you wanted to do, but you did it anyway. Why didn't you say something?"

"You're an adult, and you can make your own decisions. I know that. It wasn't my place to tell you that I didn't want you to be with him," Steve replied.

Natasha tilted her head. "Yeah, I probably wouldn't have listened to you anyway. But I still value your opinion, no matter what. You should have said something,"

Steve's eyes were glassy, fractured, heartbroken. "You're not mine, Natasha. You never were," he spoke quietly, but it rang through the room like a cannon boom, crashing straight into Natasha's heart. She swallowed thickly, hating the way her eyes burned. "I just figured that I lost my chance. I'm kind of an expert in waiting too long. It didn't matter that I wasn't happy with you and Bruce. All that mattered to me was that you were… _are_ happy. I mean, I saw you two together and you were _smiling._ He had to be doing something right, so I just gave him a little push."

Steve paused, took a breath. "And I shouldn't have said what I said, about you being distracted. I was definitely being a hypocrite, because you were right in saying that I've been distracted too, with Bucky out there and all. I should've realized how much you were hurting."

Despite wanting to fall apart right there, Natasha held his gaze, noting that he looked about as broken as she felt. "He did make happy," she started quietly. "And I have been distracted, and that's not fair to you or the team. The truth is…the truth is that even though he made me happy, I should have realized that he wasn't right for me. We want different things, and ultimately we would've been walking different paths. It's for the best that that just happened to be now."

Steve stood up again, moving so he was only a couple feet away. Natasha bit her lip, her eyes getting watery. "I thought maybe we could work things out but, uh, he left. He didn't want me. And that hurts, I'm not gonna lie. It hurts like hell. But it's for the best. And I'll get through it."

"And I'll be here," Steve said firmly. "I'm not going to leave again. We're in this together. Like you said, we're a team."

Natasha smiled. "I know. I should've realized that sooner."

"You're not the only one."

Silence. They just looked at each other, the quiet filled only with their breathing. Then, almost faster than she could process, Steve's arms were wrapped around her, and her face was buried in his chest. Natasha fisted her hands in the material of his sweatshirt, allowing her few tears to fall. Steve tucked his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in.

"I'm so sorry, Natasha," he whispered against her skin. "I'm so, so sorry. For everything."

"I'm sorry I punched you," she whispered back, and his chest rumbled against her cheek as he laughed. "We're kind of a mess, aren't we?"

"Mm," he hummed. "At least now we're a mess together."

Now it was her turn to laugh, and his arms tightened around her. They stood like that, wrapped up in each other, for a long time. Later, they laid down on the bed next to each other, on their sides so they could see each other. Natasha shut the lights off and they were left bathed in the moonlight filtering in from the window. They fell asleep like that, curled up next to each other.

It was the best sleep Natasha had gotten in a long, long time.

-:-

A couple weeks later things were getting back to normal.

Steve and Natasha had left Clint's after staying the night, returning to the facility. Steve had called Tony in to do some training with the team while he'd been gone, and he was glad to see that Stark hadn't blown half the place up with the weapons training he'd done. Wanda had been extremely glad to see Natasha, and everyone was just glad to have Steve and Natasha together leading the team. Neither Steve or Natasha mentioned what had really happened, why she'd left, why Steve had gone after her, and no one asked, for which they were both grateful for.

"It's just nice to see Mom and Dad back leading the team," Sam quipped one night as they all sat around after training sharing some beers.

Steve had just looked at Natasha and smiled. She'd shrugged and returned his smile, her gaze affectionate.

Their fight and their apologies were still on both of their minds, but Steve could tell that they were quickly moving past it. It was getting better every day, and after only two weeks they were working together like they had been during the events of D.C. They were a team, two people working as one. Trainings went smoother. They were back to talking more, and banter was exchanged like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Though he knew Natasha was moving on from Bruce, accepting the fact that he probably wasn't coming back anytime soon, Steve still offered one night to help her look for him. She gratefully acknowledged the offer, but ended up declining it altogether. " _If he wanted to see me, he would've come back already_ " she'd said. Her voice had been strong, confident, not broken like it had been a month before, so he knew she wasn't hurting as badly as before over him.

She did offer to help him look for Bucky, though. She'd apologized for making the search for his best friend seem like a distraction and a waste of time. She'd offered to take a week or two off with him and Sam to look for Bucky, once they got through some more training with the team. He couldn't have been happier that she wanted to help and, though a little surprised, he didn't even hesitate to agree.

A month after making up at Clint's they were pretty much back to normal, and thus back to skirting around each other. Steve couldn't forget that Natasha had said she'd had feelings for him, and it was pretty much the only thing on his mind lately. She had told him that the feelings for him had never really gone away, but they'd been separated and she'd gotten involved with Bruce. With their relationship back on solid ground, Bruce gone and Natasha having moved on, his own feelings were coming back to the surface. He'd pushed the down, suppressed them, reminded himself to keep his distance for so long that they were coming back stronger than before.

Steve wasn't even sure if he and Natasha were ready to address that, yet. He knew it was a little soon, still. Bruce had been gone for months now, but their fight was still pretty fresh. Still, it was hard to ignore all the time they spent together. There were some long nights spent planning out training and reviewing the teams' performance. There were a lot of stolen glances, little touches here and there, and it was driving Steve absolutely crazy. Though he could read Natasha pretty well, he apparently wasn't very good at reading if she was giving him signals or not.

Then, one night they were all doing sparring sessions in the gym. The rest of the team was exhausted, so they'd all turned in for the night, leaving Steve and Natasha alone.

"You know," Steve said breathlessly, dodging a punch from Natasha and then throwing one of his own, "the team told Tony while he was here that they call us mom and dad behind our backs. Now he keeps bugging me about it."

Natasha shook her head, ducking under his arm before grabbing it and twisting it behind him. "I told you it was a bad idea to have him babysit when you came and got me. He's more of a child than all of them combined."

"None of them are actually children," he huffed, maneuvering out of her grasp.

"I realize that, but it's not too much of a stretch. We're kind of a family. A super-powered, somewhat dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless."

Steve chuckled as he got the upper hand, getting behind her and spinning her around before pushing her down to the mat, pinning her down. "Does that mean we're supposed to be married then?" he teased. "I mean, they already call us mom and dad."

Natasha was breathing hard. She grinned at him. "Guess so, _honey._ Pretty crappy marriage though. I mean, not even a proposal. What kind of husband are you?"

He laughed, but before he could say anything, their sparring picked up pace, and they finished in silence. After they'd cleaned up, they had gathered their stuff and started walking back towards the dormitory wing of the building.

Steve kept thinking about their teasing words in the ring as they sparred, and before his courage could deflate, he spoke up, "What about a date?"

Natasha slowed her pace. "What?"

He gave half a smile, not turning his head to look directly at her. "Well, I'm not so sure about a proposal yet, but what if we started with a date?" he looked at her now, and they both slowed to a stop.

Natasha looked at him for a few beats before her mouth curled up into a smile. "Okay. Friday at seven. I live just down the hall. Shouldn't be too hard to find. Don't be late."

He chuckled and nodded. "Seven on the dot, you got it."

"Good," she breathed, eyes twinkling.

Steve's heart swelled in his chest as they started walking again. He walked Natasha all the way to the door of her room, even though he didn't have to. "And people say chivalry is dead," Natasha had murmured with a smirk.

They stopped outside her room. He knew he should leave, let her turn in for the night, but, god, he never wanted to leave her side. They'd tried that once, and it hadn't turned out so well. They just stared at each other. Steve's heart was fluttering a million miles a minute and there was a storm of butterflies in his stomach. Natasha was calm and confident, wearing an amused expression.

"Aren't you supposed to say goodnight or something? Ask if you can kiss me? I mean you got me back by curfew and everything," she teased. He wasn't sure if she was serious about the kiss thing or not, but he couldn't say he wasn't tempted to.

"I, um—"

"Just kiss me already, Rogers."

Steve didn't even have time to respond before Natasha was wrapping a hand around his neck and pulling him down till their lips touched. Steve thought his heart was going to explode out of his chest it felt so big. There were no escalators this time, no Hydra agents to run from. It was just her and him and he could taste the salt off her skin, the mint of her toothpaste. Her lips were so, so soft; he'd forgotten what they felt like. Her other hand was curled into his t-shirt, drawing him closer, and he wrapped his arms around her.

When they pulled apart for air, Natasha had an amused smile on her face, surely because he was most likely looking at her like she'd hung the moon and painted the stars across the sky. Natasha leaned up one more time, but instead pressed her lips to his cheek. Softly, gently. Reminiscent of that moment in the cemetery over a year ago.

Except this time he wasn't going to let her go.

 **-:-**

 **Chapter soundtrack:**

 **-** _ **Homesick**_ **by Sleeping At Last (general story song)**

 **-** _ **Arctic**_ **by Sleeping At Last (also general song. It actually doesn't have any lyrics, but I think it fits the mood)**

 **-** _ **Lover of the Light**_ **by Mumford & Sons (both POVs kinda, sorta general song)**

 **-** _ **I Hate You, Don't Leave Me**_ **by Demi Lovato (Nat's POV, her conflicted feelings)**

 **-** _ **I Won't Give Up**_ **by Jason Mraz (Steve's POV, make-up song)**

 **Thank you all for reading!**

 **-DuaghterOfPoseidon333**


End file.
